


Cake or Death

by entanglednow



Category: Firefly
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-19
Updated: 2008-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow





	Cake or Death

Mal is not having a good day.

For a start he's locked in an eight by twelve cell, that can put a crimp in anyone's day.

And some highly suspicious blue chemical is currently working it's way through his veins in a manner that's designed to upset the delicate balances of it if he isn't...taken advantage of and he finds the whole thing fairly well in keeping with how the universe likes to treat him.

Damned if that didn't almost sound friendly in his head.

And the only person within a million miles is Jayne. So, in all, the universe has a lot to answer for.

"Want me to go hammer on the door again?"

"Didn't do any good the last time." Mal's pretty sure they've all gone anyways and a load of hollering and pounding wouldn't be good for his blood pressure right at this moment in time.

What sort of lunatic would even engineer something that took all the fun out of sex and made it all about exploding hearts and horrible gruesome death anyway?

"How's about if I don't look?" Jayne asks.

"I'm pretty sure I'd still notice," Mal points out and glares at the door in the hope that some devious escape plan will make itself known. Possibly in a secret message under the rust.

"You're gonna let me anyways," Jayne says sensibly. "Might as well get it over with before there's blood and unpleasantness."

Mal knows it will put somewhat of a snag in the plan if he shoots Jayne now but he is so very sorely tempted. He doesn't think Jayne's corpse would make for good company in the last hours of his life. He suspects it would stare at him accusingly in a way that would, in fact, make it very unpleasant.

He could always shoot him afterwards?

"And you ain't allowed to shoot me after."

"Thought never crossed my mind," Mal says without a pause. But he stands up, and glares, and paces a little, a lot, a dizzying damned amount. Before he finally stops pretty much back where he started and jabs a finger in the air.

"We don't talk about this, we don't think about this, we do not refer to this with hand gestures or facial expressions or in any way acknowledge that it happened at all. Are we clear on that? Because if we're not someone is going to get accidentally shot someplace that'll make them limp for a long time."

By the time he's finished his dire warnings Jayne is standing pretty much where his finger is.

"You're gonna make this no fun at all aren't you," Jayne complains.

"This isn't supposed to be fun, this is saving your captain from certain death."

"Then it's work?" Jayne works his way through frown number twenty seven. "Do I get paid."

"No you do not get paid," Mal says in a voice he's fairly sure could cut through glass, given the need...and some glass.

He manages to accidentally on purpose smack Jayne in the ribs while divesting himself of his pants. He quickly realises he's going to have to get rid of his shirt too or the damn thing will get in the way. He does so, with much annoyed arm waving. Jayne rolls his eyes like Mal's undressing is some sort of unnecessary theatre.

"You're going to have to touch me for this to work," Mal points out.

Which Jayne seems to take as permission, he snags Mal's shirt out of his hands and tosses it somewhere across the cell.

"Where are we-"

"Wall'l do," Jayne decides, and Mal would kind of like to protest at that assumption, but there are already warm hands on his waist and cold concrete at his back and he's pretty much on the losing end here whatever.

"Do we even have-"

"S'in my pocket."

"Jayne of all the places I want to freely put my hand-"

"This ain't gonna be fun for you without," Jayne points out and so there is pocket searching, and Mal learns in the most random of ways what Jayne likes to keep in his pockets.

But he has what he's looking for and it's just a question of opening it while his fingers are still taking orders from his brain. But he never manages that because he finds his hand pushed into the concrete while the cap goes skittering across the floor.

"I wanna do it," Jayne says carefully, and Mal can't help the way his wrist flexes under Jayne's fingers. He swallows because this is saving him from certain death, it's not, it's not-

Jayne drags one of his legs all the way up to his waist, leans in until all the breath just falls out of him.

He has large hands and Mal has always been aware of this in a vague 'probably noticed since he's kind of huge anyways' sort of way but this is different, this is a lot different. Because the push and slide of one oiled finger is entirely different to the sort of exploration he might have, a time or two, let women indulge in. And if the noises he accidentally made might have encouraged that one finger to become two, well he's not taking the blame for that.

Jayne's other hand is moving now as well, dragging the buttons of his pants open and Mal isn't the sort of man who likes to be surprised, so he shifts his head and looks down, and then wishes like hell that he hadn't.

He's forgotten how to make facial expressions so he settles for swallowing something that wants to be either hysterical laughter or a protest of epic proportions.

But he doesn't do either, he just shifts under Jayne's hands, lets him in close, lets him twist and lift his limbs just right. Then Jayne presses in, presses all the way in and Mal can't catch his breath and that is more than he was expecting, deeper than he was expecting. One long impossible ache that he just takes and takes without question.

Mal reminds himself furiously that this is just assistance in the whole 'not dying' thing and is in no way just random sex. That he thinks he's not entirely, not absolutely, not enjoying.

He finds muscle soft enough to dig his fingers into, which produces the sort of enthusiasm that pushes a groan out of him. The hand that isn't wrapped round his thigh slams into the wall, braces there, and the pushes after it are a different sort of intense altogether.

He stops holding the noises then and just lets them out, damn it all he needs to breathe more than he needs to keep what's left of his considerably frayed dignity.

He tenses his thigh where it's balanced, and he barely realises it could perhaps be taken as encouraging. Jayne chooses to take it as such though, and after a surprised grunt the hand on the wall moves, and a second later it's shoved between them, awkward in the bare space, palm slippery against his cock, and good in all the ways that matter.

Good in the only way that currently matters and everything is briefly quite loud, and insistent and he has a vague memory of biting something, and a push that nearly breaks him.

Then it's all just bright light and breath in his ear.

Ok, make that no dignity at all.

And he thinks he's going to be mighty uncomfortable for a while.

"Are you not going to die yet?" Jayne asks into the damp side of his neck.

Which Mal thinks is perhaps, under the circumstances, the stupidest question ever.


End file.
